Jo Montfort is an atypical girl living an average life—at least for a wealthy society girl in the Gilded Age.  The 17-year-old is beautiful, cultured, and expected to marry a man whose blood is as blue as her own.  Although she's practically engaged to her best childhood friend, Bram Aldrich is a man who "inspired admiration rather than passion" (103).  Jo knows she would have a comfortable, happy life with him.  Still, she longs for excitement, for freedom, for something more than the banality of endless tea parties, balls, and child rearing.  She yearns to be a reporter, to make a difference like her hero, Nellie Bly.  Of course, such desires are entirely inappropriate for a well-bred woman.  Jo will never voice them; instead, she'll wed Bram, bear his children, and settle into married life with grace, just like every other young woman with whom she associates.

Then, Jo's world shatters utterly and irrevocably.  Her beloved father, the successful owner of several prominent New York businesses, accidentally shoots himself while cleaning his gun.  When Jo overhears Eddie Gallagher, a dashing young reporter, call it suicide, she's outraged.  Charles Montfort would never do such a thing!  Jo begs the handsome newspaperman to help her find the truth about her father's death, never suspecting just how big of a mess she's getting herself into.  To find out what really happened, she'll have to cavort with the city's seediest residents, combing its slimy underbelly for clues no one wants unearthed.  Being spotted in public without a chaperone, let alone with a low-class reporter (or worse) could mean the permanent ruin of Jo's reputation.  And yet, she can't help herself.  She must clear her father's good name—because no matter what, no matter what she finds, she has to believe he still has one.  Jo can't be wrong, she just can't.

The closer Jo and Eddie come to finding the truth, the riskier their partnership becomes.  Not only are their movements being tracked by goons with murderous intentions, but the damning eyes of society are always on them.  As Jo's own eyes are opened to the realities of life outside (and inside) her gleaming world, she begins to understand what she really wants and— most dangerous of all—what she doesn't.

Can Jo uncover the truth about her father's death?  Was it really an accident?  Suicide?  Or murder?  And after her Nellie Bly-ish pursuits, can she return to her gilded life?  Will she ever be the same again?

There's so much to love about These Shallow Graves, Jennifer Donnelly's newest YA novel.  Tense, atmospheric, and compelling, it's a page turner that will leave you breathless.  I literally (yes, literally) could not put it down.  Jo is a brave, sympathetic heroine, one whose ignorance and subsequent awakening feels realistic.  The minor characters are likewise complex, making the whole cast intriguing.  While I did guess some of the story's turns, several of the twists caught me by surprise.  All of these elements combined to make a thoroughly enjoyable novel, one of my favorite reads of the year so far.  Trust me, you don't want to miss this one.

(Readalikes:  Hm, I can't really think of anything.  Can you?)

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"Reaching the Oregon Trail in Wyoming and not confronting the Mormon experience would be like reaching Paris and not studying the cathedrals.  You cannot understand one without the other" (262).

Addressing everything Buck writes about Mormons would take forever, so I just want to point out a couple passages.  His account of visiting Martin's Cove, a historical site owned by the LDS Church, is hilarious.  He makes some interesting points while telling a hysterical tale about his foul-mouthed brother trying to "put on his Mormon" for the visit.  Buck has his criticisms about how the Church acquired and runs the site, but the brothers' experience there made me laugh 'til I cried.

While Buck's comments about Martin's Cove were not entirely positive, his experience on Rocky Ridge—the highest point of the Mormon Trail and one made sacred because of the extreme hardship endured there by pioneers, especially during the 1856 crossing of the beleaguered Willie Handcart Company—made a believer out of him.  The fortuitous appearance of two "Mormon angels" just when the Buck brothers needed them in order to cross treacherous Rocky Ridge seemed to convince them that indeed, they trod on holy ground.  Of the experience, Buck wrote, "... I loved ... everything Mormon, that day on Rocky Ridge.  Indeed, standing with them on the high rocks, I was a Mormon. Today, on windy Rocky Ridge beneath a hard blue Wyoming sky, I was Mormon" (309).  It's a very touching account, the most memorable part of The Oregon Trail for me.

I haven't ever visited Martin's Cove or Rocky Ridge, but I still have a great respect and love for the pioneers whose blood and tears flowed freely over both.  These men and women—some my own kin—endured incredible hardships in the name of religious freedom.  In obeying the God they believed in with their whole hearts and souls, they blazed trails for all of us to follow.  Vital to the settling of not just Utah, but also much of the American west, the magnificence of their courage and sacrifice really can't be understated.        

(Book image from Barnes & Noble; handcart painting by Brent Flory)

I had told myself that I was out on the trail seeking adventure, knowledge of an epic era of American history, proof that a modern crossing could still be done.  But now, as Kansas slowly passed by, with the clopping of hooves and the ringing of harness acting as a neuroenhancer, I knew that I was also out here seeking my past.  (97)

Some of Buck's ruminations get a little dull (the chapter on mules felt about 100 pages long), but overall, he's a talented yarn-spinner.  Despite its bulk, The Oregon Trail is a compelling book, one which is both entertaining and enlightening.  Funny, thoughtful, expansive, enjoyable, this intriguing travel memoir is all those things.  If you've ever wondered what it would be like to trek in the footsteps of the West's early settlers, you'll definitely want to grab yourself a copy of this funny, thoughtful, enjoyable memoir.  I, for one, found it delightful.

(Readalikes:  Um, I can't really think of anything that compares.  Can you?)

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